I'm No Cleopatra

"Seneca observed, mothers are never afraid for themselves, only for their children."

I am a single working mother once again. Dh went out of town last week, flying cross country on a red eye flight in the middle of the night. Like his previous trip to Kansas, there had been little warning. A casual, "I have to fly to Florida this Wednesday" and he was gone, once again leaving me to struggle with last minute childcare arrangements and a calendar full of family style events to which I would now be escorting our almost 5 year old twins by myself. Never mind that my work schedule and our social agenda had been planned for several months. I had to flip the mental switch in my mind from the reassured vantage of tag team parenting to the more scary single mom perspective of survival mode parenting. And, being the helicopter parent that I am, I kicked my worrying into high gear. Our expectations were abruptly disrupted as my husband's very noticeable absence impacted everything from bedtime routines to preschool drop offs. Would we get to bed early enough? Would we get to school on time? Would I get to work on time? Some of my worst fears have indeed come true. Night after night my mischievous twins have taken advantage of my single working mother's guilt; they have insinuated themselves back into our "family bed" and pushed back their bedtimes later and later. Every morning, my repetitive mantra of "Hustle, hustle, hustle!" as I shuttle them out the door hardly reflects the type of quality time I want to spend with them. Most worrisome to me, however, is that my son has started having pee pee accidents in his pants almost every day since my husband has left. I have no doubt that this is a direct result of dh's absence.

I want to complain. A LOT. I really do. But as I wrote earlier, the ship of self-pity has already sailed. (See "Man Up, Mom!") Furthermore, when I look around for sympathetic shoulders to cry on, I find that most of my closest friends have already been living lives of single moms as those of us who live in northern California pay a dear price to enjoy our beautiful California sun and lifestyle -- we have sacrificed our husbands on the high technology altars of Silicon Valley. My friends have fireman husbands who regularly spend 48-72 hours away from home on a weekly basis, husbands who travel to China or India or Germany for a week or two each month, or, most commonly, husbands who work right here in Silicon Valley from 7 am until midnight every day and are too tired to participate in parenting for the few hours that they are awake at home.

So I have kept the proverbial stiff upper lip, put my best face forward, and kept every appointment and engagement on our calendar. I am marching along like, well, every other single parent before me. We've had play dates, lessons, birthday parties, BBQ's, and impromptu dinners with friends. Despite a couple of interrupted late nights (my son's nightmare during one night and my daughter's ear ache during another) we have not missed a single day of school. And though I have not complained, per se, my friends all know that I am alone these days and they have been wonderfully sympathetic without being indulgent, which is exactly what I need. We've hung out at each other's houses for hours chatting about our kids just as if my husband were here. I've shifted my grocery shopping and subsequent cooking to a more organic menu with more fruits and vegetables. I've stocked up on art supplies and taken great pride and pleasure in watching my children's portfolios grow. The pinnacle for me has been watching my daughter draw picture after picture of the three of us together, me and the children, all with smiles on our faces and butterflies and flowers surrounding us. 

The last time my husband left town, I was reduced to tears after the first week of single parenting. This time, smarter and tougher, I am determined not to let my fear defeat me. Like Cleopatra, the quintessential working mother of twins (and then some), I plan, maneuver, conspire with my allies, and subvert my enemies (okay, I don't really HAVE enemies, but if I did I'd subvert them!). True, I don't have the fate of an ancient civilization resting on my shoulders. But then I also don't have the extensive childcare resources and opulence that she did. And, honestly, I prefer it this way. I can't imagine exchanging the smiles and songs and gentle touches of my children for anything in the world, even the power and privilege of ruling over an empire like Alexandria or Rome. As history will be the ultimate judge, I am predicting that my ending will be somewhat less steeped in misery than hers. Undoubtedly, Cleopatra has left her indelible mark on the world for perpetuity. I am certainly no Cleopatra! But then she is no me.


In Cleopatra: A Life, Stacy Schiff digs into the history books to share with us who the true Cleopatra was. As a member of From Left to Write book club, I received a copy of this book for review. You can read other members posts inspired by Cleopatra: A Life on book club day, September 27th at From Left to Write.